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EoN: Chapter 4: The Sword of Damocles Falls.

Oracle Garde, Department of Psionic Research and Development (DOS) base. Location—REDACTED. 1445 hours. 9th of August.

Azuka saccaded her eyes over the rampart of blue holographic screens in front of her. Most of them detailed reports that spanned over the better part of six months from an deployed Department contractor, others detailed Jorek's psionic panel. Neither of the subjects lifted her mood.

She hadn't yet had lunch, her stomach feeling bloated as if sloshing with acid; a low-sitting burn had been churning in it since morning. All of the as of now empty paper coffee mugs stacked in a small tower on her table probably hadn't helped, either. Coffee was about the only thing that kept her awake...

The snow leopardess pressed the back of one hand against her mouth, brow furrowing before she took off, folded and hung her glasses from her white coat's collar.

She rubbed her eyes. They felt sand-filled.

It wasn't the first time Michael had been late to call, but the growing silence worried her still, even though she reminded herself that she wasn't his officially designated contact while he was undercover. But it wasn't just her and her husband's old friend's silence which were like weights on her mind.

Jorek's psionic growth despite him being twenty-two was reason for concern: Usually when the psi potential awakened, it surged, then stabilized, like a wave that eventually met the shoreline—in the white tiger's case, the wave kept growing, to what heights could be anyone's guess.

A sudden hand on her shoulder made her flinch, hands jerking up against her sides reflexively.

She turned around, eyes narrowed into slits, of a half a mind to curse at whoever had startled her so.

“Whoa, whoa! Haven't seen that look since '95 when I dropped that Italian vase you loved!"

Her husband raised his hands up, palms facing towards her in mock-surrender. The bulky lion smiled down at her, but the old worry-crease was between his eyebrows.

John cupped her face between his large hands and peered down at her with worried eyes.

“You look pale. When did you last get a full night of sleep?"

Azuka chuckled in response, though it sounded more forced than normal and she had to crush the instinct to pull away.

“That's funny. I am a doctor, honey. I don't sleep."

A stern glint appeared in those amber depths. Both of them could tell she was deflecting. “I am serious, Azuka. If you don't slow down you will need a doctor of your own soon."

“I'll cross that bridge when I get to it." She slipped from him to scroll through the holo-screens, well aware of his unflinching gaze at the back of her head. No, there was still no sign of a missed call.

God. What's taking so long? She thought.

“So, tell me—did you come as a worry-wart husband or as a hardened jarhead?" She said as she gave him a perhaps too quick smile over her shoulder.

“Both." He sounded resigned, though she knew he'd try again; they were both equally stubborn when it came to each other's well-being. “I also came to hear Micahel's latest report."

Azuka breathed in carefully through her nose, briefly chewing her lip, eyes fixed onto the hard-light screens.

John had enough on his mind already, with training new recruits and contractors that the Department sorely needed. That their sector needed, especially. Everything else would be a distraction. Including her. Including Michael.

“...He...hasn't called yet." She said haltingly after a short silence. She didn't turn to look at John's reaction.

“I see. I'll wait."

The silence crusted around them. Azuka tried to tell herself that it wasn't an awkward one, but the sensation in the pit of her stomach said otherwise.

“Did you tell Jorek about the offer from Autumn's Hold in Arizona?"

For the second time that day she flinched, not having noticed that John had shifted to stand behind her, arm stretched out over her shoulder to absentmindedly scroll through the data screens she'd stopped paying attention to at some point, mind seemingly slipped into a haze without her noticing.

“I did." She said as soon as she'd found her footing.

John kept scrolling. “And?"

“He said he'd...Think about it." Azuka said in all but a whisper, her words accompanied by a rush of guilt. She couldn't make out any direct reason for it. Other than that perhaps she should have tried harder to convince Jorek. Yet the eyes that had stared back at her from across the table hadn't been those of a young man—of someone who'd trained with Delta Force, someone who'd fought in Serbia, Nicaragua or Mogadishu—but a scared child. It had torn at her heartstrings and she hadn't been able to find it in herself to press further as duty demanded of her.

I am just a woman...What more could I have done—Forced him?

He'd certainly seemed scared and frightened at the prospect of singling out his Pyrokinesis for training. From a maternal perspective she could understand his trepidation: His power's awakening had caused his parents death, however indirectly, though he didn't seem to see it that way, despite 12 years having passed from that day. Most likely he feared hurting more people. Refusing to use it was most likely a defense mechanism of sorts.

The lack of control could be psychological or it could be genetics at play. No-one knew with certainty, not even her, and she'd known the tiger longer than most. That Jorek treated his own power as if it were a slumbering dragon didn't aid in research.

When it all came down to it, he might not be given a choice in the end. It felt wrong to her. Wrong, but not unexpected: she reminded herself that Jorek had signed his contract on his 18th birthday, the same as everyone else who worked for the Department.

Did he really have a choice though? Could there have been a better place for him...? The Department gives and takes...The thought seemed rebellious yet she couldn't have been the only one who'd noticed how the organization had shifted over the decades from a sanctuary for the scared and the lonely towards a hardened private military company. Though perhaps it had always been heading in that direction and she'd simply been too optimistic to see it. Or too absorbed by her work. Still, it would be naíve to think that one could get something for nothing: That kind of open-handedness didn't exist in the day's society. Maybe it had never existed.

“Maybe he'll surprise us still." John's deep bass-tone brought her out of her contemplation and she mentally chastised herself for it; this wasn't like her, she wasn't so easily distracted...

His words sent her mind spinning along new, unforseen paths. She didn't know if she believed John's words though: Jorek had always been stubborn. Probably one of the reasons he'd lived as long as he had. The white tiger was skilled already, had potential, undoubtedly, but so far lacked the discipline. Everyone could see that. That he spent his days fraternizing didn't help his reputation as a lotus eater any, either.

“I only wish he'd show his training the same dedication he shows his hobbies." She said out loud, arms crossing as she frowned.

“He's still young, Azuka. He'll learn sooner or later."

“...And how many will have to suffer before that happens?" Her voice sank into a whisper as her chin lowered. She pressed a hand across her chest.

It felt like a betrayal to the man who'd been her ward since he was 10 years old to say it outloud. She knew Jorek wasn't some monster who didn't care who he hurt, far from it, but she'd always believed that his parents death would urge him to gain control as fast as possible, instead, the opposite had happened: He almost refused to use his flames at all. And when he did conjure them, lost control more often than not.

“That is why he's here, so that until that day comes—and it will, love—as few people as possible have to suffer."

“What if the Overseers decide to send Headsmen after him at some point, what then?" She swallowed as her eyes burned with unshed tears she was too stubborn to allow out. I shouldn't have said that. The walls have ears and the shadows have eyes.

John took hold of her shoulders, his grasp firm, grounding. A part of her still wished to pull away.

“That won't happen. Lack of training and disipline is no reason for an excecution or an assassination. You know this as well as anyone."

Azuka swallowed thickly, took a moment to find her voice again, fought against the emotional tempest which wished to devour her. Her voice came out small and dismal in the end all the same.

“But lack of control is, John. That makes him dangerous. Unpredictable." Her voice wobbled at the last syllables.

“There are prescriptions for that, just think of Cassandra--"

“She is not the same, John! And you know it!" Azuka jerked free suddenly, no longer able to stand the touch as it grinded against the mounting storm inside.

John flinched at the rise in tone. Instead of anger filling his eyes though, they softened even further and Azuka hated the part of herself that thought that taking out her fear and frustration on John would help. She damn well knew better!

She sighed, head dropping before she looked up at him again with a silent apology in her eyes.

“The fact is—" She forced her voice to lower as she continued after taking a quick breath and letting it out, her shoulders slumping. “—The only one Cassandra can hurt is herself—Her Telepathy is crippling just for her. With Jorek it's different. He's 22, John. Twenty. Two. And he's in the Tetra stage!"

“Jorek wouldn't hurt innocent people."

“Not willingly, no. But he is still dangerous...God, what if they want to send him to the Correctional Center..."

The Limbo Correctional Center. Azuka had been there once. But that one visit was seared into her mind forever. Row upon row of glass cells, each with an inmate pumped full of so many chemicals that they might as well be dead. Soulless staring eyes looking at nothing, mouths open without sound and drooling.

Azuka couldn't keep back a revolted shudder. Dear God. Let never Jorek suffer such a fate. He's suffered enough! The burn in her eyes increased to such a point that she couldn't keep from blinking. Something wet started to tickle down her cheeks.

“Honey...Honey, look at me." John cupping her face again made her aware that the wetness on her cheeks were tears.

John continued once they were looking at each other,“You're exhausted. You need to sleep. Why don't you go and rest a bit, hm? I'll wait for Michael to call."

Azuka gently pulled away from him to wipe her cheeks. She sniffed, chuckling weakly, her face hot with the beginning of a blush. “Maybe you're right...Maybe I pulled one too many one-nighters...Hah."

John hummed affirmation and leaned down to kiss her forehead. Her lion. Her best friend. Her rock. Warmth flushed through her and she closed her eyes, smiling as his lips lingered. Some of the tightness in her stomach unclenched itself then and there.

A tiny jagged shard of something kept raking around in her chest though, and the snow leopardess resisted the urge to squirm despite the calming touch of her husband still planted firmly on her. The duality of sensations were jarring, like she was being shredded through the middle.

Can't shake that something's not right...But probably overthinking. Lord knows it wouldn't be the first time... She thought as she pulled back to crane her head up to nuzzle her husband's chin with her forehead, smiling small but genuine as it came to her.

“I should probably go and try and eat something..."

“And take a cat nap."

“Oh, a nap? In broad daylight? Husband's orders I take it."

“Husband's orders." He winked one eye at her.

* * *

John watched her leave, the comforting smile staying on his face only until the automatic sliding door had swished shut behind her, and she'd vanished beyond the room's floor-to-ceiling windows and down the hallway.

He let out a deep sigh, shoulders dropping as he rubbed at his forehead warily , a weak smile coming to him. His crazy woman.

She takes care of everyone but herself. Everyone else first and last. She forgets herself. He thought as he reached over his wife's desk to press a button on Azuka's blue hard-light keyboard which polarized all the windows of the room, capsuling him in gloom. Can't blame her for worrying though. If Jorek doesn't realize the seriousness of his lack of control soon...

The 42 year old lion narrowed his eyes. His auburn mane was streaked with silver and even though he was middle-aged and past what most would call the prime of a man's life, his body was still startlingly fit and bulky, his movements smooth and unhindered.

“Mimir, activate security protocol DELTA-4B." John's bass voice rang out, well-aware that the synthetic consciousness which inhabited the base would pick it up. Red letters trekked over the upper half of the room's windows in loops with 'PROTOCOL 4B ACTIVATED' written boldly not a minute later.

John continued, “Open up comm-link Alpha-0559-112."

The screens flickered and dissolved into specs of light, rearranging themselves into a small hologram on the tabletop, about 30 centimeters in height.

A Doberman stood at parade rest, arms folded behind his back, stance stiff with the precision only acquired by military training, ears straight on his head, gaze rapt.

He wore standard military uniform with jungle camouflage.

“John." He said simply in greeting, head bobbing in a short nod.

“Michael." John crossed his arms. They stood unmoving for a while, each seemingly occupied with their own thoughts.

Soon enough, a toothy smirk broke over the doberman's face, the steely veneer melting into an almost boyish grin.

John smirked back at his friend of more than a decade as he canted his head to one side. They had fought together, bled together, and there were few the lion trusted more than the man before him.

“Breaking protocol again?" Michael said with a knowingly raised brow. “We have to stop seeing each other like this—what will Zu-Zu think?"

The fact that Micahel used Azuka's nickname so flippantly—something usually only John could get away with— spoke volumes already.

John scratched at his chin. “Funny that you should mention my wife. She's been worried for you. You took longer than usual to call..." He left the fact that Azuka had been breaking protocol by contacting Michael out. “Hard to get some air?"

No sooner had he spoken, the doberman's face turned stony. Michael's sharp eyes saccaded, perhaps looking for an answer that would be safe and just-enough to be divulged over the comm-channel. John wouldn't blame any overly cautious behavior though; Operatives like Michael sometimes spent years winning the trust of their targets. Only an unprofessional would risk that over a call, especially a private one.

“...More like it was hard to leave." The doberman said after a pause, voice low, weighted, face angled down and gaze downcast.

“Where are you exactly?" John said, instead of voicing empty platitudes. Sometimes comfort was just patronizing; whatever horrors that were happening where Michael was wouldn't be eased or undone through his words, John knew. Better to keep things on topic. Seeing the horrors of what people could do to each other was a bitter truth of their profession. Though the fact that Michael was telepathic didn't ease the weight of his burden any.

“La Basura, it's 8 clicks or so from Ouro Preto in Minas Gerais. Some old gold mining town that doubled as an outpost once, probably...There should be files in the intranet archive." The doberman's answers were crisp and matter-of-fact, text-book-like.

John got the hint; Michael didn't want to talk about it.

“Still haven't told me what you're doing down there." John said with just the barest hint of a command in his second pair of vocal cords.

The doberman's ears twitched, before lowering in nonverbal defiance. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

They stared at each other, gazes not so friendly anymore. Would Micahel disconnect the call? Would he say that John had overstepped his station—And rightfully so?

“You do realize I'd be breaking protocol by telling you what's going on, don't you?" Michael spread his arms down the sides of his body in a gesture that said that he was explaining something profoundly simple.

John smirked the only way a feline knew how to. “Wouldn't be the first time. Like that night we got drunk in Verona in 86'...Or was it '88?"

“Hold up now, we don't need the higher ups to know about that one!" Michael's eyes bulging and his voice rising into an unexpected, nervous squeak had John chortle. “And for the record," the doberman gave an almost painfully obvious fake cough, “It was in..ahem '89. Just so you know."

“Hey, speaking of alcohol, when you get back we should get a beer or something to celebrate, catch up. "

The doberman's nose wrinkled as he smiled cockily, the heavy weight gone from his eyes.

“Deal—but you're buying. And you're coming to get me."

“Still don't know what I am coming to get you from."

“Not simple human trafficking that's for sure. There are slaves sure, but they aren't preping them to be sold—not as they are anyway. I thought it was maybe some large scale black-market organ trading but the shit they do the kids here..."

John's arms fell away to his sides, and he found himself blinking in shock. “Hold on Michael, hold on. Did you say kids?"

“Yes John. Kids. Some of them aren't even ten. Or weren't. There's...There's been a lot of body bags over the past few weeks..."

“Doesn't make sense. Why ruin the kids if they are intent on selling them for profit?"

Michael rubbed at his eyes, teeth gritting in what had to be frustration at the situation. Or his powerlessness to stop it. Or both. The hologram's geometrics contorted and flexed, life-like almost.

“I don't know John—all I know is that what the bastards are doing is sick: Operating without anesthetics, injecting them with all kinds of chemical shit. Beating them, starving them before putting emetic into their food. It stinks of brainwashing."

“How do they manage that? Are they well-equipped or being supplied?"

“Remember how I said that it's not your usual slave traders? Most of the guards here belong to the Blue Viper cartel—El Azul Víbora—one of the largest criminal syndicates working in both Spain and Brazil, their infamous even on the Black Market. But from their thoughts they are merely supplying their current 'contractor' with test-subjects. As far as I know they aren't doing any of the actual experimenting."

“So they are merely the supplier of wood for the pyre. Who's responsible for lighting the match?"

“I don't know. I haven't met any of the inner circle, it's all very closed off. I have seen some of their equipment, though. It's bleeding-edge-tech. Like some of ours."

“Or like Seraphic International. Do you think Nikolai Roman could have a hand in this?" John hoped not. The former Department contractor happened to be a powerful Carrier, and telepath at that. It would be stupid to try and take on such a powerful, well-connected man, especially at the moment when they were so splintered. The sectors seemed adamant to be more interested in one-upping each other than working for a common goal.

Michael shook his head, ears lowering against his head partly, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “I honestly don't know. All I know is he didn't agree with the Department's dogma, I can't tell if that means he's ruthless enough to poke into and inject chemicals into a kid's brain and then shock it..."

Jesus Christ. Sounds like hell over there. John crossed his arms as if wethereing a unseen blizzard. “Are they awake during all that?" John could already tell he wouldn't like the answer.

His fears proved correct as Michael's face turned cold and flat, mouth set in a thin line. His eyes squeezed shut briefly as he said, “Usually. I have a little hide-out in this run-down church in La Basura. The screams reach me there."

I was right. It IS hell over there. John thought, and the silent nagging notion that the sooner Michael left Brazil, the better welled up amid it all.

Probably just nerves and worry for a friend—one of the few he got left—he tried to tell himself. But he'd survived too many close calls to deny that the churning in his gut tried to tell something. Something bad drew closer, like a stormfront swelling in the distance.

“Will you be needing extraction soon?" The lion said seemingly calm, not letting any of the worry he felt show on his face or in his voice.

“In a week or two, perhaps. If everything goes according to plan..." The stormy look remained in Michael's eyes even as they crinkled as he smiled and said, “So how's Jess? Is she any bigger since last I saw her?"

Neither of them voiced the fact that it had been close to six months since Michael had been stateside.

The change of subject from whether the doberman would make it back home to Michael's pregnant wife was appreciated, the lion decided as he let out a soft chuckle.

“You kidding? I'm surprised Jessica still fits into her car." An exaggeration, and they both knew it, but it made the doberman snort out a laugh, some of the shadows behind his eyes easing away. It made the glint in his gaze look younger, more boyish. Happier. It edged John over and into his own spree of chuckles.

Soon enough though, their shared laughter died down. As casual and easy as their conversation had turned, it was still a business call at heart. Somewhere in the back of his head, John knew that if the 18-year old had been told that 20 years or so down the road he'd be a 'military contractor' and mostly fine with it as well, he'd vehemently disagree.

Well, a man's gotta eat something and sleep somewhere. Some days I wonder how I manage to do both though. Haven't exactly been a saint over the years...Maybe someone with stronger ethics would feel worse...

Before the lid he'd put over his guilt could be fully eased open, he pushed it back. This was not the time or the place for a proper heart-to-heart, no matter how much the old, dry thorns scraped at him. A headache wrung around his temples without warning.

He blinked and returned to the moment when Micahel said, “I should begin to get back. I need to get some shut eye...Have a long night ahead of me..." Something implicit in the words made John want to press for more, but didn't: He knew what it felt like to be distrusted. It broke bonds and shattered confidence. Still, a large part of him wanted to speak more to the canine, wanted to liberate and air the fear that he was getting old, obsolete...

Guess I'll wait until he's back home. Would give us something to talk about...

“I need to go too." He said haltingly with a delayed nod. His concentration wavered, the tension in his gut grew, expanded another few inches, turned the sensation from just uncomfortable to aching. Damn it. Why does this feel like...goodbye? John swallowed the lump in his throat, not aware how or when it had gotten there in the first place. His hands tingled uncomfortably and he flexed them in response.

“Try not to die now, I am not there to watch your back, after all, “John blurted out, an clumsy laugh followed as if to patch over whatever undercurrent his words had given shape. Azuka jabbed at him that he was superstitious. But when you could move things with your mind or create fire with it, how many more minds like his wondered if something else existed in the world that seemed like an outsider, something otherworldly?

If the doberman caught onto his unease or shared it he didn't show it. He'd always been good at controlling his emotions. Probably why he had accepted the infiltrating position to begin with. He just smiled, easy and understanding, and it sent a flush of something inexperienced through the middle-aged lion along with something else, something he couldn't explain. He gave a low chuckle, for a few strange moments he felt like a young man again, so new and green like a sampling resting underneath the protective shade of an older Hawthorn tree.

“See you later..." Micahel winked one eye at him, and he reminded John of Jorek for a heartbeat, a similar evergreen glint present in those brown eyes. “...Mr Bernard."

John didn't feel like smiling for some reason, his chest heavy and filled and mind crashing itself against dark thoughts that wouldn't give way.

The lion's smile was tense as it spread over his face, as if meat hooks were pulling it into place instead of muscle. “Mr Garcia."

Michael nodded once as if in satisfaction, then, he reached over, palm hovering over a button John couldn't see, and the hologram winked out of existence. The screens, their light dim and strangely hollow, filled the space over the desk once more.

John sighed before he turned them off, rubbed at his temples to alleviate the tension which pulled at his jaws in long aching lines.

The lion breathed in and steeled himself.

His day had just become a lot longer.

* * *

New York. Seraphic International. CO's Office. 9th of August. Later the same day.

Nikolai Roman sighed into the phone's receiver, more than tired of the conversation at hand. It had been a long day already, customary of his posotion as CO of one of the state's largest genetic modification and research companies. That a belated report of illegal downloads and theft had arrived was just his luck.

“What is the total amount stolen, month for month?" The athletic black wolf said, rising with a creak from his wine-red leather chair, his gait carrying him to one of his office's large bay windows.

The East River shimmered in hues of gold, and over the skyline, a long streak of midnight blue had begun to creep over the sky like a veil. The beauty of the scenery didn't move him or ease the gnawing sense of having been outplayed. He briefly removed the phone from his ear to check the time. He hmpfed under his breath. There would be overtime again. By practiced routine he put the phone to one tall, perked ear once more.

“1.5 million the first month. 3.5 the month after that followed by another 2 million. And..." A male voice brought up the sums haltingly before trailing off.

Nikolai drew in a terse breath through his nose, pressed down on the urge to throw the phone to the floor as the silence on the other end grew. He reminded himself that it was expensive. That was a lot of money taken, but more money could always be made if one knew how. What set his mind spinning though was the pause. He didn't like it.

“And...?" His eyes narrowed into slits as there was no further reply.

Finally, after a few loaded pauses the answer came, “And there were reports from the science team— of some blueprints being downloaded from outside the server archives..."

His fingers gripped the phone tighter, fighting down the urge to snap into the receiver. The pressure the effort brought on made his eyes ache. Or it could be too much overtime. Or it could be the frustration of having his property stolen.

Nikolai shoved the feelings aside, well aware how deceptive and control destroying they could be. What he needed was facts, statistics and information. Things he could read and make sense of. Control. Emotions were the exact opposite of control, for most people, even him at times.

The black wolf's brows furrowed down over his silvery gaze. “Which projects exactly were the blueprints for?" He said in a tiber tone as he twisted around and turned for his desk, activating the holographic interface built into the tabletop with an elegant swipe of his finger. His fingerprint gave him immediate access. He listened raptly even as he began to flick through the different files and projects his company had under the hood. Most of them legal...others not quite so much.

“It was for the Advanced Virtual Reality Training Simulator, ARTIST, the one we were--"

“-- Going to use to help train our new contractors, yes I am well aware, Mr Mendes." Nikolai couldn't keep some passive-aggressive sarcasm from coloring his words. What am I even paying these people for? You'd think they'd be able to think for themselves...

“Of course Sir, of course. The GENTIAN: Gene Strengthening and Modification serum was also among what was stolen." Mr Mendes' voice had returned to its normal inflection once it appeared that Nikolai wouldn't fire him. At least not right now. He thought even as Mendes' words registered a heartbeat later.

Nikolai's brows squeezed together. “The formula or the blueprint for it?" He said, and managed to control his voice by force of habit only, all the while fighting against the sensation of being sucked into quicksand. The formula for the GENTIAN serum had taken half-a decade to formulaize correctly...

“Just the serum itself—remarkably few stocks of it as well according to the inventory report—relatively small doses, too. The formula for it is still in the internet archives, Sir. Untouched."

“Good. That's good Mendes. Have the corresponding serves make back-up copies, just in case. Has the Chief of Security any leads to give to the authorities yet?" A small wave of ease washed through him, making the punching-bag his stomach had turned into, unclench an fraction. But why only take such small doses of something so valuable...? He thought as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Of course Sir, I will. Well, Mr Nikolai if there's nothing else I'll bid you a good evening and—"

“Mendes, do you know if all the international teams have reported in? I'm still due for a report from the team down in Brazil..." Nikolai said before the other man could hang up.

It was unlikely that Mendes would, in fact, know anything. But if he did it would ease some of Nikolai's suspicions. And eliminate his own people of guilt. And if not, it would only be one more breadcrumb towards the ones responsible. The timing of the theft and the prolonged silence of his cell down in Brazil felt too convenient to him. Even if it probably made him seem paranoid. Being born a telepath, Nikolai had been wary of people ever since his power manifested in childhood, a rare enough occurrence.The awakening had shown just how deceitful the world and the people in it were. How selfish. If people can use you, they will. Better to use first. Everyone lies when they can. Better to lie first.

Mendes speaking up brought him out of his reverie. “Not as far as I can tell." There was a strained throat clearing before he hurriedly added, “Please let me double check and I'll get back to you as fast as I can, sir."

How convenient...A hole in my coffers, reports not coming in as they should. Blueprints downloaded...They really do underestimate me. Well, they'll get theirs soon enough. Nikolai thought with a dry smirk.

“I'd truly appreciate that, Mendes. Have a good evening."

The doors of the chamber swished shut and left Nikolai in silence and a strange half-blue gloom that seemed to emanate from the very air itself.

The theft and illegal downloads were most likely an inside job. It was all a nail waiting to be hammered into the coffin lid in Nikolai's mind.

His company hired some of the best security affordable to a multinational billion dollar company, cyber and otherwise. The download shouldn't have happened, nor the theft of the vials. Security was well-paid with little reason or cause to endanger the next month's pay. Which left traitors as the best bet. That, or they were paid to do it by some veiled third party behind the scenes. Strangely enough, that prospect worried him more than potential backstabbers. If only because they were a unforseen unknown.

Most likely some ankle-biter down the ladder who went sour over his paycheck no doubt. Or someone who didn't like how I run things—The Swedish model isn't for everyone...Well, nothing to do about that now. Now for some damage control... Nikolai thought as he strode further into the half-gloom.

A podium rose in the middle of the windowless chamber. Blue particles glowed and winked as they sailed close to the raised platform like fireflies pulled by unseen hands. Small electric sparks snaked briefly along the etched blue lines in the stainless steel, pulsated like a quiet heartbeat across the floor.

Nikolai ascended the short flight of stairs that lead up to the podium, arms clasped behind his back, his image reflected all around on cool, geometric surfaces. The wolf knew that the hallmark of a good strategist was to read the opponent's move and counter before said move could be executed—so far, few had posed a threat he couldn't handle through direct intervention—telepathic or otherwise—or through an assassin's red contract.

Despite being willing to use less diplomatic means when the need arose, diplomacy would always be his first tool and the one he'd use the most if the situation allowed it. Violence and cruelty had their place but as tools to be used and not as an base indulgence; Tyrants tended to die with a knife in their back. A fate which Nikolai wouldn't be part of.

Nikolai let the thought fall away as he picked up a slender circlet that rested in a mold on a crescent shaped console, which partly filled the podium. Hollows were cut into the metal, the gaps filled with circuitry in tones of dark silver and pale metallic blue.

The jet-black wolf set the circlet on his head. His skin heated as the handshake protocol began to kick in between his mind and the telepathy-applying machine, sending tingles through his scalp.

A projection of the globe swelled into existence, littered with golden dots that winked like sprinkled jewels, too many to count, each one a mind with a depth surpassing the world's oceans. And all of the knowledge, the secrets, were his to know. A rush swept through him, almost comparable to a voyeur's thrill, moments like these were the ones he loved, made him feel most powerful.

He reigned in his excitement, focused his mind where it wished to wander with the practiced ease of a chess-master that moved his pawns over the board, and the blue projection turned clockwise until Brazil fitted neatly in his view. Even now, so many miles away, the thoughts of the population brushed over his psyche; feather-light, almost ticklish. Nothing more than a gentle choir of whispers, like the pleasant noise of running water.

The team sent down had been situated at an international business compound per his instructions in Rio De Janeiro. Their assignment had been simple; to find potential business partners who'd be interested to supply Nikolai's company either as suppliers or as customers.

It seemed, however, that his employees had done something else entirely.

It took him a minute or two to scan Rio De Janeiro; the collective, almost swamp-like mindscape made individual thoughts hard to find. Hard, but certainly not impossible.

Three months after their arrival the team had stopped with the periodic reports. Or rather than stopped they had become shorter and shorter and then ceased. The office had closed and they had moved to Ouro Preto and then further up the Espinhaco Mountains.

The trail ran cold then; there were not enough minds for him to get a clear picture, the mindscape, like smoke given shapes, evaporated into the vastness of nature.

Nikolai clenched his jaws hard enough for the muscles in them to ache. He wouldn't be outplayed. With a thought, he winded the search field. Moved his consciousness down into the vegetation and forests, searched and stalked along its paths. An ant flickered with life, its base brain alight with the firework of its shallow nerve-impulses. He slid from it, and into the proud form of a cougar female, her form heavy with cubs. The feline's sharp eyesight let him see in the night's darkness, but nothing more than prey to sate her hunger. Neither one interested him. Just as he was about to slide from her, something made him pause. A memory, still sharp and tinged with something akin to fear...

She'd been frightened one night, bright lights piercing her sensitive eyes while on a hunt in a valley a few miles from Ouero Preto.

The image of a desolate village, left to face the elements and the ages alone in a gully, swelled into his mind not a beat later.

She'd snuck inside, instinctively wary and on high-alert, while the old dusty stone buildings with their faded baroque decorations loomed above her form like gravestones, pale and long in the frosty moonlight.

Voices had been heard laughing, speaking in what Nikolai recognized to be Spanish, a yellow light poured with them from an old doorless house, red roof-tiles shattered in a jagged ridge under the windowsill.

She'd snuck closer, curious despite herself, despite the danger. Her coat had stood on end, a hiss escaping her as a dark form cut through the light, shouts and loud bangs followed and she'd fled.

Interesting. Now who'd take up residence in such a remote place? Someone with something to hide. Even if it had nothing to do with his problem, perhaps their minds had unwittingly snapped something that could guide him onto the right path.

Nikolai slipped from the memory, his mind shaking free of the last dregs of it before it sailed over the nocturnal landscape in search of the village, leaving the female be.

It seemed even more dismal from his own perspective; more like a toy set left behind by a child when it was no longer wanted or needed than a place that had once housed people. As with so much else made by man it had been left to its fate when deemed to no longer be useful.

His conicouncess went past the surrounding crag as easy as a breeze. He took note of the rusted sign overgrown with ivy and partly veiled by blue wild flowers: La Basura.

The house from the cougar female's memory waited, dark and hollow as he projected himself into it. A radio atop an old worn desk, a bunch of magazines had been stacked under one of its legs to keep it level. Dust crowded under the thick, tall threshold and on the floor.

The psychic trails left in the room were crusted and cold as he examined them with a swipe of his hand. Black with weak patches of red lingering, like cooling ash. Nikolai took it in stride as he, with a swish of his hand, parted the strands that were left with steady, practiced ease. His eyes narrowed as the memories played back in his mind.

They did not live here. Moved. Hopefully not far away. Nikolai thought as the strands finally melted away into the ether, crumbled in his hands like black sand. Lost.

In the distance however, something smoldered, like a forest fire trapped in a small room.

Curiosity peaked, Nikolai shifted his consciousness, slipped it through the wall of the house.

The psychic light rippled at his psyche like a wall of heat, steadily growing stronger the closer he got to the center of the village. How come he hadn't noticed it earlier? It was something he wouldn't have usually missed...

The answer became clear as his astral body drew closer: Psychic dampeners, planted around a structure that was far newer; built from steel and concrete, it stuck out like a sore thumb among the dried cadavers of stone and wood. Miles away, the sight of the rods that seemed to pulsate, the air around them vibrating, caused Nikolai to quirk a brow, mouth corners pulling down.

How in the world did they get Psi-Dampeners all the way out here in this hellhole in Brazil? A cold sensation wringed his guts, And for what purpose?—I almost don't want to know. Almost.

Nikolai inched closer, weary despite there being no flesh that could burn or nerves to hurt: If his psionic energy reacted badly to the dampeners field, the shock to his nervous system could very well send a stroke though his brain, and to the sensitive nature of a Carrier's mind it could very well be fatal.

Gingerly, he passed a spectral palm through the misty, blue-tinged current, and through the psionic applifier's feedback loop could feel how that corresponding, physical limb grew numb.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. He thought despite every instinct yelling at him to step away.

He stepped through.

For a heartbeat the terrifying sensation of losing control, of flailing mindlessly around in a void without gravity, took hold. Everything spun, and Nikolai had to keep himself from reflexively yanking the applifier-circlet off his head—another would-be fatal error.

He worked through the waves of nausea that struck at him, zeroed in all thoughts and stimuli on taking deep, even breaths until the sensation of spinning-while-standing-still had abated.

The building, from floor to ceiling, was a prison. The impressions cut and slashed against his mind, the black and red intensity momentarily overwhelming him before he tensed up against them.

Nikolai conjured up the image of a force-field around him, how the lacerating imprints dissolved against it. As the burn of the pain against his astral body faded into a dull throb, he cautiously reached out.

The trapped, luminous, star-like presence was closer now, more light than psychic heat to the black wolf's trained, disciplined mind. Shackled by the dampers outside, it had nowhere to go, it turned inwards into the walls of the building, covered them in fine sheets and veils of energy, as delicate as silk cobwebs.

What a strong energy signature...But why isn't it actively disassembling the environment? It's almost as if it is on...stand-by? Curious.

The energy trails bloomed up from the floor and into the walls and the ceiling like a world tree in delicate tones of white.

With a thought, Nikolai slipped his astral form through the steel to follow.

As he sank through the concrete, the stone walls, damp and cold, soaked like a swamp with old holed memories, made it clear that the newer concrete had been built over the slab of an older foundation. Too old to read properly, and Nikolai found himself far more invested in the psionic energy that wafted up in sheets, like temple incense burning at the pit of a well. Steadily, he told himself he was closing in on the source.

He sank through the last layers of steel and concrete, found himself in a dimly lit hallway in the bowels of the boulding, the light yellow and dingy as it flickered from cheap, rusted, wide brimmed lamps overhead, casting smeared, circular spotlights on the floor.

The energy coiled and winded through the corridor, invisible to the guards. If they could see it and its source however, whoever it originated from would've most likely been dead already.

Though not overly religious by nature, Nikolai still sent out a silent prayer to whatever cold, distant god who might care enough to gaze down, just for good measure at the fact that the source was in fact unharmed.

Or relatively so, going by the vicious bolts of psychic flashes assaulting his mind with shattered, broken stanzas of violence.

...The fist cracked down, once, twice, pulled back for a third time, blood filled the mouth, gurgles bubbled up with every breath. White and red zig-zagged across the field of view, darked momentarily to black. The hand cracked again, impact wet. Someone laughed, the sound muffled as if coming from underwater...

Nikolai steeled himself, the memories like torrents of jagged glass spattering against his consciousness, sending pin-pricks of pain across the nerves of his face and neck. He raised his mental shields up once more, more strenuous than with the cougar female. Filtering her animal, base experiences had been a breeze: trying to filter through the experiences of a more sophisticated mind was akin to trying to push a 20 pound rock uphill.

Ignoring the cutting lines of pain assaulting his psyche, Nikolai pressed on, through the nearest wall. Scanned it quickly with incoperal eyes; an operation room of sorts, by the look and layout.

An operation table rested in the middle of the room and a glass cabinet filled with various medical products and vials stood along the wall. Nikolai felt a dull stab of surprise. Why would they need medical supplies and psi-dampeners out in the middle of some decrepit village? The questions but more the potential answers sent the black wolf's mind down dark paths.

My employees...They stole my tech to give to this rabble...But for what?

Never one to be content to be left in the dark, Nikolai pressed on, slipping through the next wall with the ease of a breeze, still led on by the rippling sheets of energy that pulsated like veins, the beat quicker now, as if he were following the lines of life from some slumbering giant and were inching closer to the heart.

The room he'd slipped into were rougher in layout and seemed half-way done, seemingly made in order in all haste; A well roughly cut into the concrete floor, which was littered with fine, veiny cracks and dust. A heavy iron door closed the room off further from the rest of the building. An Isolation room? No...A cell.

Nikolai scarcely noticed the room however, every inch of concentration nailed onto a slender, frail-looking form nestled in one corner.

The psychic energy founted, sprang up like roots from a spectral tree, sprouted from the emaciated form in a dazzling contrast between radiant sheets of energy and withered human flesh. Nikolai almost couldn't believe it, and yet proof was there, right before his eyes!

A hundred questions sprang to mind. He restrained his excitement and plucked each one with care. The 'How' wasn't quite as interesting as the 'why'. The most likely explanation must've been that an employee had seen and seized the opportunity to sell Nikolai's product to some black-market group. He found himself gritting his teeth at the thought. The nerve of the wretch, to steal from him, to take what was his!

Nikolai studied the corpse-like boy. His real-world face couldn't hold back a disgruntled sneer at just how dirty the kid was. He looked as if he had been born in grime, and then dragged through dirt. Hair long and matted, face gaunt, but the eyes...The eyes held fire that burned strong in the darkness.

As Nikolai studied the sullen form, a plan began to take form. Regardless of his next move or what happened next, the damage to his property was already done, the only thing left for him to do would be to do some proper damage control. Erect his walls and weather the storm as best he could, physically, but more importantly, economically.

Poor child would never make it out of here anyway. If whatever experiment they did with the GENTIAN serum doesn't kill him, starvation and dehydration will. It's not as if I will kill him. I will merely offer him a choice in how he'll go out.

Nikolai canted his head as he began to ease away the natural defensive layers of the teenager's mind, like one might peel an onion. In a short while, the young mind was open to him, like a piece of clay ready to be brought to shape. All that was left for him, was to enter.

Now then, young soul, let us see what you chose...

* * *

Rick let out a gasp at the prickle of grass that brushed against his cheek as he awoke fully, for a second there had been what felt like a faraway call, but not from outside, but within somewhere. A silent voice that had called his name.

Senses dull, he sat up to slowly twist his head from side to side.

He'd woken up on a hill. Grass rolled in green jade waves as far as the eye could see. A steady breeze sent folds of light rolling through the surrounding hills. Overhead, a pale full moon bled blue.

“Good, you heard me."

Rick flinched, entire body tensing up, expecting a punch or a kick to follow the words, like they always did. When none came however, he twisted in the voice's direction.

A black wolf in an impeccable suit sat on a stone barely two meters from where Rick was, haloed in blue, metallic moonlight. He was darkly handsome, with silvery gray eyes that were sharp and neutral, even slightly curious, Rick thought.

“Who are you? Are you Death? Am I dead...Is is over?" Rick looked at the wolf with wide eyes, some unreadable emotion digging its claws into his chest.

The wolf chuckled in response, as he flung one leg over the opposite knee, proped his chin against the back of a hand. “No, I am not Death. And it is not over, not yet. But it will be, soon. As for who I am—I am merly a...Buissness man, here with a question...and a proposal."

“In exchange for what?" Rick said, eyes narrowing in growing suspicion. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what, but something in the wolf's voice threw him off. “I don't trust you."

“Which means that you are a smart child..."

“I don't like chit-chat..." Rick started to turn away, only to flinch and gasp as the wolf appeared before him.

Rick hadn't seen him move at all, had heard nothing.

The wolf knelt down to his level, weight falling on one knee. “Since you're not one for small talk, I'll cut to the chase: I am merely obliged to inform you that you are at a cross-road currently. The sword is waiting to fall, and you decide where."

“I don't understand..."

“Why, it is quite simple, Rick..." Rick averted his eyes as the wolf smiled, the moonlight reflecting off of all of his terrifying sharp teeth. “What would you give to hurt the bastards who hurt you back? What would you give up?"

He shivered at the tone, not out of fear but a rush of excitement, so dark and drunk that it frightened him with its intensity. He pulled his knees up and locked his arms around them. He didn't want to feel any excitement. He wanted to say no, he was going to say—

“—Anything..." Rick whispered as another breeze rolled over him. He could hardly believe he'd said it, and yet he had. The lid to that black hole inside had been nudged open, and it poured out. “I...I want them to pay for what they did," Rick's voice grew louder and louder, “ I want them to suffer!" His entire face contorted as his face flushed and chest boiled hot.

The wolf raised an eyebrow. “Even if you died for it?" He said matter-of-factly.

“Yes. Then my blood would have been spent well. I have nothing else to lose. I'll die here either way..." Tears began to sting in his eyes and he looked away. “Those poor kids...Younger than me. Showed no care, no mercy. And for what?" Rick's voice broke and he forced himself to be quiet. He had no strength to speak of, never had. Vengeance and justice was well beyond him.

“Why do I go on?" He said, found himself looking to the wolf for an answer, the canine's face studious as their eyes met.

“Because it is in your nature. Why does the bull fight when caught in the lion's jaws? Why does the fish struggle in the net? The answer is instinct. As long as you fight there is a chance. Stillness is for death."

Rick bit his lip and looked down, eyes shifting as conflict tore up inside him at the wolf's words.

“Why wait for heaven when you can rule in hell?"

The soft words sounded so final that Rick couldn't help but look at the wolf again. “What?"

The wolf had a resigned expression on his face, and for some reason that frightened Rick far worse than the toothy smile from before. His chest grew cold as he studied the solemn expression without finding any clue to the canine's intentions. He shuddered where he sat still. Violence and pain he could take, they had been long-time companions. But who could fight against uncertainty? Rick waited with a silently heaving chest for the wolf to speak again.

Finally, he did. With the same solemn expression ever present, he said.

“If I do this, if I go along with my earlier plan, if I awaken that primal instinct in you, you will cease to be who you are now, who you were. You are special, Rick, as am I, but perhaps you have already started to understand that....I can awaken in you a tempest that will strip the men who hurt you bare before its wrath, but in return you will become a killer, like them."

The wolf's eyes had become pale mirrors in his black-as-night face. They glinted with a pride that Rick couldn't fathom ever having. All he had, had ever had, was stupid decisions, one after the other, a clumsy past riddled with repeated mistakes. A roadmap to disaster from the start.

“I don't care." Rick said, surprised himself by smiling softly, “I'd rather burn out than fade out."

Yes, if I am to die, let it be in a way that I chose. If I can't live my life because they dictate it, I will die the way I want to!

'Is that your final answer?' Rick flinched as the wolf's voice sounded from inside him, inside his head. For a moment he was struck speechless before he found himself noding once, soft but sure.

'It is'.

The wolf reached out a palm towards him, bright in the moonlight. 'Then give me your hand, little soul.'

And Rick took it.

* * *

Michael flinched, serene meditation shattered at the sharp psychic twang that filled the air like sudden brontide. The hairs at the back of his neck stood at once on end, a cold wrenching sensation taking hold on his lower belly as his sixth sense pulsated in that old sign of warning. That silent bell inside him that tolled of disaster.

The rising surge of energy sent bolts of pain through his temples, white-hot needles that made him clench his teeth and his eyes water. Mustering all his military discipline, the doberman rose to his feet unsteadily, while the bell-tower he surveyed the dried-up village from creaked and groaned forebodingly around him,

Once at the window, he could see the source of the torment inside his head.

The newest addition to the village, the cold square of concrete and the only building veiled from Micahel's psycic power, blazed with power like a funeral pyre alit. Long, spectral tendrils grew from cracks in the roof and walls, cracks that snaked down to shatter the crusty earth it stood on, large chunks of dry, caked soil, the size of trucks, was being pulled up along floods of energy, as if pulled in by the long, crushing arms of a whirlpool. The psychic dampeners shook as they fruitlessly tried to stem the oncoming waves, the rod-like constructs trembled violently before finally imploding into clouds of debris that breezed into the swirling, dust-filled nocturnal air.

The contractions of power grew, as the terrible power trashed and kicked inside its birth sack, the buzz in the air making him flinch and cover his ears in an instinctual attempt to escape the noise. Something warm and thick trickled down from one nostril. A coppery scent filled his nose.

Though his eyes closed, he could still see the shrinking Psisis Field, as it grew smaller and smaller, scorching his gaze none the less with its stellar brilliance.

Then, for what seemed like a small eternity, it stopped shrinking, and a part of Michael hoped beyond hope that would have been the end of it, that a miraculous stroke of luck had happened, that once-in-a-century moment when disaster had been averted.

He was wrong.

And as the energy blasted out in a white-hot corona of power that blanketed the village, white-outed every single one of his nerves in one single, scorching moment, he knew that he'd failed. Failed his superiors, failed his country, failed the wholly innocent souls that had been extinguished over the long, agonizing crawl that had been the last six months.

The oncoming burning waves shattered the floorboards he stood on, disintegrated the walls into dust around him.

And Michael tumbled down into darkness without so much as the chance to scream.